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  Miss Sylvia’s Stolen Bible

  Kari Jacobs, The Lawyer Sleuth Cozy Mystery Series

  Book 1

  Copyright © 2018 Harper Harris.

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction and any portrayal of any person living or dead is completely coincidental and not intentional. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission from the author, other than brief excerpts for the purpose of reviews or promotion.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  Succulent Southern Recipe

  Miss Delilah’s Fresh Peach Pie

  Your Sneak Peek of Val Masters Wedding Planner

  Other Cozy Mystery Books by Harper Harris

  Kari Jacobs Lawyer Sleuth Cozy Mystery Series

  Val Masters Wedding Planner Cozy Mystery Series

  Newsletter Sign Up and Free Book

  Chapter One

  Oh, man. It was just my luck that my car would break down right here. One hour away from arriving at my destination, after all this time spent on an otherwise incident-free drive.

  I was on my way to Appleton, North Carolina all the way from San Francisco, California. The drive was long, very long, but necessary. I just had to get out of there and I knew the change would do me good. That was what I was telling myself to feel better about all the physical and emotional labor I was putting into this move, some might say flight, across the country.

  Travelling by air wasn’t an option because shipping all of my worldly possessions would have been way too expensive and plane tickets don’t come cheap when you’re out of a job. I’d looked into all the possible methods of getting from point A to point B and driving was the least expensive.

  I didn’t have the kind of money that would allow me to easily move such a long way. I’d graduated from law school with the mountain of debt that implies, but I had a plum associate’s position at a top Bay Area law firm and a ten year plan to pay it all back. Two years later, I’m not only out of a job but I’m also blacklisted apparently. In three months of trying, I couldn’t even get an interview anywhere near San Francisco.

  I’m still not sure what happened but I have a suspicion and, if I’m correct, it’s my own fault. Curiosity can kill both cats and careers, it seems.

  Anyway, life comes with many, many bills and mine were piling up. So, it seemed like a Godsend when a tiny little law firm, Winston, Yancey & Philpot, from a microscopic little town, Appleton, in North Carolina, called me with a job offer. My Aunt Octavia, whom many know as Judge Jacobs, had an association with the firm going back to the 1980s and, I suspected, cajoled them into giving me a job.

  Aunt Tavey and I were once very close, but she became reclusive for some reason and I hadn’t seen her since I graduated from law school over two years ago. I missed her a lot but I suppose it was nice to know she was still looking out for me.

  So, my car was stuffed to the brim and my body was contorted just so I could actually drive my car. It was a wholly uncomfortable experience, but I was making it work… sort of. Also, my phone wasn’t getting the greatest service, so I had to use a physical map to navigate. Like the ones you see dads pull out in those old movies when the family was going on a road trip and they didn’t want to ask for directions––yeah, that kind of map. It was exhausting.

  America has so many roads but, like a game of Plinko, I just wanted to navigate down a few of them to the prize.

  I had the map spread out on the seat next to me. Or I should say it was on top of the stuff on the seat next to me. I was trying to figure out my exact location. I was mildly confident that my finger was tracing the right line. The road that I was going down was super narrow and covered with trees. There were so many trees. Visibility was at a minimum, so I wasn’t going as fast as I could have been.

  I hadn’t seen another car in a while, but I didn’t want to find myself in an accident either, so better safe than sorry. I was pretty sure I was only an hour or so from Appleton. It was a little hard to tell from a piece of paper, but I was doing my best estimations.

  As the trip progressed, I was getting less and less frustrated.

  I had some downbeat tunes streaming from my iPod through the car speakers and I was starting to feel a little better about my skills as a navigator. This was my first time using a map to get around, so the fact that I appeared to be on the right track was encouraging.

  This would be something fun to brag about at my next law school reunion. Everyone had made fun of me for moving to such a small law firm in what they thought amounted to the middle of nowhere. All my friends were sure I’d get so lost I’d end up in Alaska, but I was about to prove them wrong.

  My happiness high was going strong until the illusion had to be shattered by my car shaking. It was very freaky having my car trembling like that, but that didn’t stop me from attempting to keep moving forward. I gripped the steering wheel, trying to see if there was anything I could do to salvage any of this because if I had to drive the rest of the way while rocking back and forth a little, I would.

  But I knew my feeble attempts were just me floundering from the get-go. After about one more mile, I was forced to pull over to the side of the road because the car had gone kaput. Complete and total failure. Whether it was done for the next hour or the rest of its life, at that very moment, it wasn’t going anywhere.

  I got out of my car and I knew there was nothing I could do. I gave my car a quick skim, walking around it like I’d seen people do in the movies, but that wasn’t going to get anything done.

  I’d seen a mechanic before leaving San Francisco and they’d told me that I was really risking it, driving a car like mine so far––and by a car like mine they meant as old as the day is long––but I didn’t have much of a choice. If I could have bought a new car first, I would have done it, but that’s not the way my cookie crumbled. My cookie was a car older than me whose best days were far behind.

  I paced back and forth for a few seconds, secretly hoping this problem would fix itself, but when no magical genie popped out of thin air, I took it upon myself to find a solution.

  I dug my phone out from my pocket just to see if there had been any update on my getting service, but it seemed even worse out here. Zero bars! Zilch. Absolutely no service. I held it up as high as I could, but that was futile. I debated climbing a tree but with my luck, I’d get stuck up there and still have no service.

  I knew I should have called the phone company before moving. ‘I could take care of it when I arrived,’ I thought. ‘It won’t be a big deal,’ I said to myself. Ugh! I was stuck here, and it was my fault. I couldn’t call anyone and I couldn’t fix the problem myself. My options were running out, along with my daylight.

  Tired and beginning to wonder if it was time to get scared, I looked around and noticed some lights in the distance. I squinted to see if I could figure exactly what I was looking at, but it was too far away. They were arrayed in a way that suggested a house, which, hopefully, meant people. Since there was nothing else for me to do, I decided to head in that direction. I looked down the road one last time, just to see if there was a random passerby, but no such luck.

  Walking off into the darkness seemed to be my only viable option.

  I went into my car and I grabbed my bag out of the front seat, looking at all my things before reluctantly leaving them behind. I was taking the bare necessities, keeping the baggage light for my little trip.
I began walking without looking back because I knew I would just turn back around and waste more time debating the merits of leaving all my stuff on the side of the road.

  I hated that I had to leave my car, which, to reiterate, had everything that I owned in the world inside it. But neither did I want to spend the night on a dark road waiting for someone to show up and that someone might not even be friendly. Then again, who’s to say the people in the house would be friendly? I was walking off into something unknown.

  I’d never been to North Carolina, nor to any Carolina for that matter. This whole move was all just one big calculated risk. What was one more?

  After starting my walk, it dawned on me that the lights were further away than they first appeared. The darkness confused me and, so, I had embarked on a walk I didn’t want to take that was going to be longer than I anticipated, but that was just the way it was. I just hoped they had some kind of cell phone or landline I could use.

  Chapter Two

  It took about thirty minutes to reach the house, which, in the grand scheme of things wasn’t that long, but it was further than I’d estimated.

  I had spent most of that time walking up a frankly excessive driveway. To me, that was crazy––a driveway taking thirty minutes to walk along. Plus, I thought the walk was going to take a lot less time. And that wasn’t even the thing that caught my attention.

  What got me was the large plantation style house. I’d never seen one in person, only in history books or when I’d fall asleep watching Gone with the Wind with my mom. I hadn’t even thought any were left standing, but I was clearly more than wrong. It had large columns holding up an ornately designed roof and a balcony running across the front. The entire house was expansive.

  There must have been I don’t know how many rooms. Plus, it looked like it was still in good shape, too. Good enough shape for someone to be living there in my opinion. Yeah, it wasn’t in peak condition and could maybe use a fresh coat of paint and a little bit of love, but it was very livable. Plus, all the lights were on. If no one lived there then that was just a massive waste of energy.

  I climbed up the stairs and found myself on the porch, standing in front of these two big double doors. It was quite regal. A whole lot of wealth on full display.

  I brought my hand up to the huge door knocker, which was a brass dog’s head holding a ring in its mouth, and let it fall a couple of times. The sound boomed a lot more than expected, given how lightly I was letting it hit the door. But I wasn’t going to let that scare me away. The general weird ambience was doing that well enough.

  It didn’t take long for me to hear some movement around the house. But what I thought was a person ended up being a dog and I knew this because said dog stuck their snout against the window right next to the door. It was surely the biggest domesticated animal I’d ever been this close to. I’d watched enough Scooby Doo to know it was a Great Dane.

  We stared at one another for about a minute before it out a low, “Woof?”

  I wasn’t sure what to make of it because it didn’t seem hostile, just curious, something we had in common. It moved its nose along the window a little, leaving a light wet trail. Maybe if it wasn’t getting dark, I’d be more open to playing around, but it was, and I felt a little too tired to engage.

  I thought about going back to my car, but that would solve absolutely nothing. I’d be right back where I started––with a broken-down car in the middle of nowhere and no way out. So, I stayed, anxiously waiting to see what was going to happen next.

  I waited a couple of minutes and no one new appeared. The dog was still staring at me, probably assessing me just like I was assessing this entire situation. It let out a few more barks when I knocked on the door again. It wasn’t like it was distressed and, in all honesty, it seemed a little amused, like I was some weird lady giving the dog a few laughs for the moment.

  Finally, this little old man in a black suit came to the window. He had coattails and a full tuxedo jacket. This had to be the butler. Another exotic creature I’d never seen in real life. Looking like he just stepped off the set of Downton Abbey.

  After he opened the door, two enormous Great Danes nearly knocked him over in their attempts to get out the door. They made their way to me and sniffed all up my legs.

  I wasn’t sure if touching them would be a good idea because the little old man was softly cursing, but then he looked over at me and said, “They’re friendly. Just a little enthusiastic.”

  I put my hand down softly on one of their heads. They snuggled into my palm and I got a little less anxious. My attention was caught again; this time by a question.

  “May I inquire as to why you are here, Miss?” His was talking in such a formal Southern way.

  On my cross-country trek, I began to notice a slight change in accent even in the southern parts of Illinois and Missouri. By the time I crossed Tennessee, the speech was a full-blown dialect with different words for everything and strange customs.

  “Um, my car broke down a couple of miles down the way,” I explained, pointing in the direction I had just walked from. “I was hoping to use a phone and call to get a tow. My phone isn’t working, or I would have just called myself.”

  I was twisting my hands together, nervous that I might be told to go away. This place was turning out to be a lot fancier than I expected. This whole scene was nothing like what I had expected and it had barely been an hour since I broke down in Unknown Zone, North Carolina.

  The man gave me a quick up and down before responding, “That shouldn’t be a problem, but it isn’t up to me. You’ll have to ask the mistress of the house.”

  I must have made a look because he felt the need to continue to explain. “I can see you’re not from around here. This is Red Rivers Plantation. I’m the butler, here, for the ladies of the house.”

  I nodded, taking in the information he was giving me. So, this was a real plantation. Obviously no longer operational for… reasons, but it was one hundred percent legit. I had kind of guessed that, but now I had had it confirmed. It was weird being so close to something so historic. And the fact that there was a butler— it was all a little too surreal for my tastes.

  “Um, so should I…” I didn’t know what to do with myself, which was strange.

  I usually had a lot more command over my responses. I was a lawyer; you learn to project confidence, but this time I was a little out of my element. I felt like this situation called for a level of decorum I was not accustomed to.

  The butler made a big sweeping motion with his hand and said, “You may follow me inside, so I can formally announce you to the ladies of the house.”

  He kept saying things like ‘mistress’ and ‘ladies of the house.’ Who was he talking about? His bosses, I was assuming? It didn’t make it any less weird or confusing.

  “Your name, Miss?”

  “Uh, Kari Jacobs.”

  “This way, Miss Jacobs.”

  I nodded again and stepped inside when he motioned for me to. The two Great Danes were right on my heels and I wasn’t sure if they were attached to me now. Usually, dogs would get their sniff in and then go back to their owners, but these guys seemed to want to spend a whole lot more time with me. I guessed they probably didn’t get a lot of visitors in this secluded area, even though there was a butler, and I didn’t know what he would do without guests to let in.

  When I stepped inside, I got my first look at the house, mainly the foyer to be exact, and it was just as fascinating as the exterior. There were paintings on the walls of old Southern ladies and gentlemen, as well as bucolic scenes of the countryside. Columns came down from the ceiling and there was a winding staircase leading way, way up. To really sum it all up, I’d have to label the house as intimidating. It was inspiring a bit of awe within me.

  The butler caught me staring and I could tell he found it distasteful, even if he kept that bit to himself. I stopped gawking at the home and waited for him to direct me to wherever these ladies of the h
ouse were.

  “Please follow me to the sitting room.”

  He gave me a reluctant little bow and then turned on his heels to walk down the hall.

  He was keeping a quick pace and I did my best to keep up. I knew he would like me even less if I started to lag behind. The dogs followed us as well, the four of us, an odd little group navigating down to wherever we were headed.

  Chapter Three

  The hall we were walking down was quite long and it had even more paintings hanging o the wall. They were unique works of art that looked expensive. I would have loved to stop and look around, but the butler was keeping a brisk pace that I didn’t want to break.

  We reached the end of the hallway and the butler suddenly stopped at a door. He knocked lightly before opening it. The Great Danes ran inside and I decided to just wait right outside until the butler officially let the women know I was there. But the butler motioned for me to follow him, so I ditched my plans and walked inside, standing just behind him.

  I looked around the large sitting room and it was like the rest of the house, an homage to the Antebellum South. The furniture, rugs, art, walls––they were all antiques.

  The butler cleared his throat and announced, “A Miss Kari Jacobs to see you mes madames.”

  Two elderly ladies were sitting very primly and properly in two separate chairs. One of them had to be the lady of the house, but I wasn’t sure which one. They both wore long sleeve dresses with legit petticoats. I’m talking full-blown, ballooning out from their waists, circular petticoats here. It was as if they had fallen out of an old civil war movie.

  I couldn’t imagine wearing something so stifling, but, at that moment, I felt very out of place in my modern clothes. I was pretty sure I was the weird one here.

  The butler had moved around me, so I was now front and center. It felt like everyone was scrutinizing me. One of the women stood up and came over to me, hand held out. I put my hand in hers and we shook.